


summertime.

by inarizaki (xixuwus)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AtsuHina Week, M/M, bad metaphors, fuckinng abstract as hell idk wtf i was writing, i really don't know what to tell you guys abt this fic, it's just atsumu making a bunch of metaphors about hinata this whole fic, slight jealousy, stupid competitions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:49:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xixuwus/pseuds/inarizaki
Summary: atsumu liked summers. they were hot and stifling, but summer was always a time for play. people were happier in the summer.he should make an effort to be happier this summer.or loosely:3 times atsumu and hinata took competition too seriously, and the one time atsumu had a nonexistent rivalry with kageyama.for atsuhina week!| day 5: rivals
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 10
Kudos: 192





	summertime.

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this on a whim for atsuhina week with the concept of rivals. looking back, this fic literally has nothing to do with rivals a;slfkldja;slfj very much failed at that prompt! but i still wanted to post it. i worked on this for like 3 days nonstop--please leave a comment and kudos if you have time!
> 
> this fic hasn't been edited or beta'd, and maybe later i'll fix any inconsistencies when i haven't been staring at this 24/7.
> 
> this is the first time i've ever posted for like a ship week, so!! i'm v excited~

atsumu knew hinata was competitive, but he didn’t realize that this was the extent. every waking moment, hinata pushed himself for a new challenge—master a new move, get the best-tasting drink, eat the most, even be the first one at practice.

atsumu is prone to waking up early due to his brother’s business. osamu wakes up at butt crack o’clock, sun barely risen. groaning, atsumu presses his face into his pillow to try and drown out the sounds of osamu preparing for his workday. the shower is right next to atsumu’s bed, just a thin wall separating him from the spray of water. the smell of fresh eggs and rice waft through their apartment, which is the small grace from the banging of pans on the stovetop. atsumu knows osamu can cook silently, and he’s sure that the noise is just to get atsumu out of bed.

sleep manages to take atsumu for what feels like a minute before he hears the front door slam shut. osamu’s day has begun—and atsumu is still in bed. he begs for sleep to take him under again, but the lingering scent of a warm breakfast gnaws at his stomach until it growls. atsumu opens his eyes with regret, glaring at the early time on the clock—5:45am.

it’s too early. practice didn’t start until 7am.

he flops his face back into his pillow one last time to see if he could get just a few more minutes of shut eye, but his stomach growls again. atsumu forces himself awake, running his hand through his hair with a half-whine to no one in his empty apartment.

atsumu regrets showering so soon after osamu, realizing his brother had taken all the hot water. standing in front of the mirror, atsumu notices the dark circles under his eyes. his sleeping schedule hasn’t been too good lately, it seems. perhaps it was the extra practice he’d been doing or was it the early waking up? his eating habits probably contribute to his sleeping as well. despite being v-league now, atsumu was quite notorious for eating things he shouldn’t—fatty foods, snacks, and even desserts.

aside from volleyball for a short time, food was a passion he and his brother both had an affinity toward.

walking back into his room to get dressed, atsumu glances at the clock again—6am. the gym should be open by now, and it’s not like he has anything else to do. a nice jog before practice and some weight training might be good to do in these early hours. he quickly dresses for a workout, donning shorts and a t-shirt along with a black cap.

atsumu grabs his backpack and heads to the kitchen, expecting to rummage for any food to eat for lunch and snacks. a neatly packed bento sits on the middle shelf with a note on it.

_don’t forget to eat a good lunch, fatty. you can’t practice well if you don’t eat well._

ah, so this is what osamu must’ve been cooking earlier this morning. atsumu smiles to himself and places the package in his backpack with care. as much as they bicker and as much as they clash, osamu always watched out for atsumu.

grabbing his water bottle, atsumu headed toward the gym at a brisk pace. the trees weren’t as lush as a few weeks ago. the heat of summer was starting to dry them out, even in the morning when the dew tried its best to replenish that luscious vibrancy to the leaves. atsumu liked summers. they were hot and stifling, but summer was always a time for play. people were happier in the summer.

he should make an effort to be happier this summer.

“miya-san!”

the sun isn’t fully up yet, just barely peaking over the hills—but the sound of that voice felt like the day had just woken up. birds cooed and the breeze picked up. the world has finally begun to turn, and the day is beginning.

sunshine is arriving.

“ah, shoyo. you can call me by my name,” atsumu says as he turns around to greet the shorty.

it’s just past 6am, and hinata’s smile is 11am with a side of fresh lemonade.

“sorry, it’s just habit!” he exclaims. “you’re here early.”

“oh, yeah. osamu woke me by being loud—that jerk. so I decided to come early, get some weight training done. do you usually come this early?”

hinata nods, firm. “I guess I’ve always woken up early. I always thought there weren’t enough hours in the day. waking up early means I have more time to do more things, more time to train—but if I never had to sleep, I think that’d be cool!”

childish was the first word that popped into atsumu’s head, but ambitious was the word that screamed the loudest in his bones. hinata isn’t someone to disregard, even with his over-the-top dreams. those dreams aren’t so farfetched to hinata, and the most important factor in achieving a dream was believing. look away from hinata for so much as a second, let yourself breathe around him for just a moment—and hinata’s already miles ahead of you.

atsumu could not afford to let hinata get ahead of him.

“you really have an active body, huh,” atsumu comments, pushing the door open and letting hinata pass through with him.

“I’m no good at studying,” hinata confesses, walking into the locker room to put his things away, “but I have my body, so I like to think that’s my talent.”

atsumu stares at hinata as he changes clothes. in high school, hinata wasn’t thin, but he wasn’t buff. he definitely wasn’t tall, and he still isn’t. now, he’s broader and thicker, tanner (that’s brazil’s doing). hinata says his talent is his body and athletic prowess, but didn’t he realize he has aura and charm? he has the ability to make people fall in love with him and dance to his tune.

“hey, atsumu.”

“yeah?”

“today, you won, but tomorrow, I’m going to beat you here.”

atsumu laughs, pulling off his jacket and stuffing it into his locker, but from the corner of his eye, he sees it. he feels it. that monster is there—razor-sharp teeth bared and ready to pounce. atsumu better tie his laces tightly, because tomorrow, he’s in the race with a beast.

the next day, atsumu is late. osamu didn’t do his usual thing where he slams all the doors in the house before leaving, and atsumu rushes out the door at barely 6:30am.

when he arrives, hinata is waiting at the front of the gym. he wears a cap on his head to hide his messy orange hair and a wide grin.

“beat ya!”

it’s nearly 7am, and hinata’s smile is 1pm with a side of golden honey tea.

* * *

no one says it, but sakusa’s sullen face says it best. shrunken back and leaning against the wall of the gym, slumped, sakusa looks like he’s about to melt into a puddle on the floor. he’s stripped down to just a t-shirt and shorts, but he looks like one touch would turn him to liquid.

“it’s so hot,” inunaki finally says.

a wave of heat wafts through the gym as if those words just trigger energy in the team’s two most volatile spirits.

“it’s hot, but isn’t it great?” hinata exclaims, sitting by atsumu. hinata smiles as if he also isn’t drenched in sweat and sore from practicing (though considering who hinata is, maybe he isn’t sore yet).

“I love summer! it’s so refreshing!” bokuto also exclaims. at least compared to hinata, bokuto actually looks like he feels the summer’s heat.

“what’s so refreshing? I’m so sweaty,” sakusa complains, looking as if he’d collapse at any second.

hinata makes an inquisitive sound, and atsumu looks over at him. hinata’s drunk all of his water.

“I’m gonna go get a drink,” hinata says, using one hand to stand up. he tosses his empty water bottle by his discarded jacket.

there’s talk between the other members as they start discussing their move sets—bokuto says something about wanting to learn how to hit harder—and atsumu follows hinata outside, also muttering something about getting a drink too.

atsumu watches hinata stand in front of the drink machine, glaring at the different drink options. after a minute, hinata still hasn’t chosen. most days, hinata is very decisive. he has a routine, and he sticks to it. today seems to be an off day.

atsumu walks up to the vending machine and immediately presses an option for a fruit drink.

“hey!”

the machine registers the choice and fetches the drink, politely spitting out the beverage of choice—atsumu’s choice. atsumu bends down to take the drink.

“I win,” he jokes, winking at hinata as he takes the drink and walks away.

the only thing worse than poking a sleeping beast was asking it to fight.

the next day, practice goes longer than expected. the streets are clear, and the sky is inky, flecks of white stars dotted throughout the canvas of the sky. despite the darkness of night, the air is still muggy and hot, sticking to atsumu’s skin as he makes his way back home. he spots a drink machine on the corner of the street.

it wouldn’t be bad to have a nice sip of something sweet and cold. it is summer, after all.

he inserts his cash and patiently waits for the machine to accept his money. he raises his hand to choose a sweet drink, but a gust of wind stops him, knocks him in his side. losing balance, he shifts his hips and grounds himself.

the gust of wind is hinata, who gives him a wide, goofy grin as he presses the option for a sports drink.

“I win,” he says, grabbing the drink. “don’t drink sugary things before bed! you won’t sleep well!” he adds, sprinting off with the stolen drink.

atsumu stands there dumbfounded before laughing to himself. he shoulders his backpack and heads up to his apartment to find his brother sitting on the couch reading.

“you’re late,” he mutters. “practice went long?”

“yeah,” atsumu says, dropping his bag by the door and immediately rummaging through the fridge for food. osamu glares at the bag, untidy.

“hey, samu.”

“hm.”

“what’re some healthy drinks that are sweet you can make?”

in the subsequent weeks, hinata becomes a kleptomaniac—specifically fixated on atsumu’s drinks. on thursday, the team went out for drinks, and hinata stole atsumu’s first beer of the night with a cheek grin and a peace sign. the following wednesday, atsumu’s fruit milk was drunk by hinata after a practice game. the next week, atsumu hides the smoothie his brother made him by bringing several decoy bottles of water in his locker and in his bag.

hinata hasn’t made any moves to snatch atsumu’s beverages today. that’s a good sign. maybe this whole “stealing drinks” competition was finally over. atsumu half-sprints to the locker room, excited to finally try out osamu’s new smoothie flavor. ever since atsumu had asked him about healthy but sweet drink options, osamu’s been experimenting with flavors atsumu likes and popular flavors for the season. atsumu figures that these drinks will eventually be sold in osamu’s food stall.

atsumu uncaps the tumbler and tips his head back to take a large gulp.

nothing comes out.

he tilts the bottle and looks inside—empty.

“hey, ‘tsumu. what was in that bottle?” hinata asks.

his eyes are innocent, but the aura around him is dripping with knowing curiosity.

“wouldn’t you know? you drank it,” atsumu huffs, capping the bottle again. “my brother made that for me.”

hinata inhales sharply. “oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know! if I knew that, I wouldn’t have drunk it!” he exclaims, bowing low to atsumu. his form is so polite, square and very proper. did hinata get in trouble often enough to have practice bowing like this, or was he just naturally this polite?

atsumu’s never seen hinata like this. hinata—demon spiker, decoy, unrelentless force on and off the court, undoubtedly fierce, the competitor—the game beat to his drum. he called for his spikes; he dove for his chance to keep the ball alive; he worked his ass off to keep himself healthy. atsumu’s never seen hinata as anything but a hungry beast, but with the way hinata bows, atsumu can see the softness in his cheeks, the roundness of his face. it’s been a few years since high school, but hinata is still young and it shows in the sincerity in his eyes, the redness in his cheeks.

the annoyance in atsumu’s bones drains out of his body, leaves his stomach, and is replaced by something else. he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“don’t worry about it. I gotta get home. see ya tomorrow, shoyo!” atsumu calls as he turns to leave, shouldering his bag. osamu will kill him if he’s late for dinner again.

his stomach still hurts—well, it doesn’t hurt. it isn’t quite uncomfortable either.

“tsumu,” osamu says almost as soon as atsumu walks through the door. “that smoothie I made you. was it good?”

“don’t know,” he replies, tossing his bag by the door. osamu glares at it, messy. “I didn’t get to try it.”

“what do you mean? where is it? if you’re not going to drink it, then give it back.”

atsumu sits at the dining table. “that shrimp drank it all before I could.”

osamu turns away from the stove to look at atsumu. his brows are furrowed, confused; lips pursed in a grimace, perhaps disgust; but his eyes are inquisitive—there’s more to this story.

atsumu sighs. “I don’t get his problem. so I steal his drink one— _one_ —time and suddenly he’s constantly trying to steal _all_ of my drinks. _three times_ he stole my drink from the vending machine, not including that first time! that guy just doesn’t quit.”

osamu rolls his eyes, turning back to the stove. “you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“yeah, yeah,” he mutters, resting his elbow on the table and hanging his head on his hands. “so how do I end it?”

osamu shrugs his shoulders. “challenge him to something else… or admit defeat.”

during practice the next day, hinata grabs atsumu’s elbow and tugs him close, as if signaling to tell him a secret. he raises himself on his toes just a bit to talk directly to atsumu’s ear, and atsumu accommodates by leaning down.

“stay after practice. I have something for you,” he says. it’s non-threatening, cryptic at most.

atsumu laughs off hinata’s serious tone and nudges his shoulder. the unsettling, uncomfortable—but not unpleasant—feeling returns to his stomach. “sure, I’ll stay.”

atsumu almost forgets to text osamu that he’s staying with hinata after practice. it’s not that osamu would be angry if he didn’t text, but osamu would be angry if he didn’t text. despite them acknowledging that they have their own lives, osamu cared a great deal about making sure his brother was safe. though, no one would really expect that from the way he’s so cold toward atsumu.

hinata is almost secretive as he leads atsumu into the city. they stop outside a coffee shop, and hinata tells atsumu to wait for him there.

atsumu waits patiently for hinata to return, occupying himself by looking at his phone or admiring the sky. practice had ended early for the day to allow the members some free time. usually hinata would be dragging atsumu for extra practice, and that’s what atsumu thought hinata had been asking him earlier that day, but here he was, waiting for hinata outside of a coffee shop.

just across the street, high schoolers were traveling in large groups and knocking shoulders with each other as they walked down the narrow streets, probably on their way to a new restaurant or the park. the park would be nice to visit at this time. it wasn’t too hot and there was a persistent breeze that kept the air cool today.

without realizing time passed, hinata returns with a smoothie—a mixed berry with whipped cream on top.

“what’s this?” atsumu asks as hinata hands him the smoothie.

“to make up for the one I drank yesterday,” hinata says, a sheepish hand behind his head.

atsumu looks between the drink and hinata, dumbfounded.

“you—”

“don’t start on that ‘you didn’t have to’ bullshit. I know what you were going to say. just take the drink, and then tomorrow, no more sugary drinks!”

it’s easy to suppress his smile behind the straw in his teeth. hinata rambles on about how nice the weather is, but atsumu isn’t listening. hinata asks him to practice some tosses in the park, and atsumu just hums as the breeze ruffles his hair.

it’s 2pm, and hinata is 3pm with a side of a mixed berry smoothie and whipped cream.

* * *

“get out, get out, get out—shoyo will be here soon!” atsumu exclaims as he tries to push osamu out the door. “you promised you’d be out of here!”

“I thought this wasn’t a date,” osamu jokes, taking his sweet time packing his things to stay at a friend’s. lucky for osamu, suna had said he could stay at his apartment for the night while atsumu is on his not-movie-date with msby black jackals’ opposite hitter.

“it’s not a date. don’t call it a date. he’s just coming over for drinks and a movie,” atsumu says, tapping his foot impatiently as he watches osamu take a million years to pack his things.

“and he’s staying the night,” osamu adds. “that’s more like a sleepover, but if you end up doing it, that’s a date.”

atsumu sputters, hitting osamu’s back repeatedly. “shut up shut up shut up shut up.”

osamu lets out a small chuckle, a rare sound; he really must love torturing his brother. he finally shoulders his backpack and heads for the door. “okay, whatever. have fun on your not-date—but if you do end up boning, there are condoms in the desk drawer.”

atsumu’s face turns beet red as he chases osamu out the door. the twins nearly trample hinata at the door, who seems to just be waiting for the right moment to knock. osamu waves goodbye to the two, and atsumu gives him the middle finger in return.

“oh, is osamu not staying?” hinata asks, watching osamu get into suna’s car.

“no, he’s staying with suna tonight—so it’s just us two,” atsumu says.

“ah… I wouldn’t mind if he stayed! I wouldn’t want to kick him out. osamu also lives here,” hinata says, almost panicked. he looks like he’s about to turn and run after suna’s car to call osamu back, and the last thing atsumu needs is to chase hinata down halfway through the city, so he grabs hinata by the upper arm and drags him into the apartment.

“don’t worry about him. he prefers suna to me anyways. he’s probably happy that you’re keep me company instead of him this weekend.”

hinata toes off his shoes and unzips his jacket, hesitant about where to put his jacket before atsumu directs him to put it on the coat rack. “oh, I brought beer for us to drink,” hinata says, handing atsumu some grocery bags. “I figured we could also order food to go with it.”

“sounds great. you can go pick out a movie, and I’ll order food,” atsumu says, running to get his phone.

halfway through the first movie the food arrives. hinata scarfs down his food like it’s his last meal, and despite the fact that hinata’s eyes are on the movie while he eats and is in no way concerned with the speed of atsumu’s eating, atsumu feels the urge to compete with hinata and eat just as fast. the only thing keeping him from seriously stuffing his face is the way his tongue tingles, like fuzzy pinpricks that start at the tip of his tongue and crawl along the sides and down his throat all the way to his stomach. he’s both full and hungry, his stomach flipping every time he tries to swallow his food.

“it’s called butterflies,” osamu had said when atsumu off-handedly mentioned it one day.

“butterflies? like… when you like someone?” atsumu scoffed, absently resting his hand on his belly, right where those butterflies flapped their wings the hardest.

osamu glared at atsumu, a seemingly blank stare that said more than osamu’s words could. “go on a date, then you’ll know,” osamu said.

who knew that conversation would more or less directly lead to demon-beast spiker hinata shoyo curled up on atsumu’s couch with a blanket pulled up to his chin as they watched horror movies late into the night? hinata refuses to close his eyes, even as he watches the goriest parts of the movie. atsumu doesn’t know what part of the movie they’re at, too distracted by taking glances at hinata every few seconds.

atsumu’s stomach has finally calmed down. his intestines are no longer in knots and he can relax into his couch easier.

“you do really bad with horror,” atsumu mentions, thankful when he realizes the movie is almost over. “why’d you pick this if you were scared of horror?”

hinata manages to take his eyes off the screen for a quick second to look at atsumu. “I dunno… I thought it looked interesting,” he mutters.

the woman on the tv screams, and hinata jumps nearly off the couch. his arms flail and atsumu reaches out to catch him.

“okay, that’s enough of that.” atsumu turns off the movie and starts searching for a new one as hinata climbs back onto the couch. he stumbles over atsumu and puts a knee in his lap as he reaches for the remote.

“give it, give it. let’s finish watching it,” hinata insists. “I wanna finish it! I promise I’m not scared!”

atsumu leans back against the couch armrest and stretches his arm out, using his free hand to push hinata away with his palm on his forehead. “no way! you were totally scared! it was the end of the movie anyways,” he says, still flipping through the movies on the channel to find something less scary.

“it’s the end of the movie, so just let me watch the rest of it!” hinata climbs over atsumu again, nearly sitting on his abdomen now, so atsumu twists his body to keep the remote out of hinata’s grasp.

“let’s just watch something else, come on.” in the moment atsumu’s readjusted himself so the tv can read the remote sensor, hinata snatches the remote from atsumu’s hand and jumps up to resume the movie.

atsumu sits up and pounces on top of hinata, wrestling the remote away from him, but hinata laughs, like wind chimes on a summer evening. with his whole body, atsumu manages to pin hinata to the floor, trapping his arms between his knees. maybe if hinata weren’t laughing from atsumu tickling his sides, hinata would’ve been able to break free, but it seems like hinata’s forgotten about the previous horror movie as he concedes and lets atsumu choose some random action movie.

three more movies later and atsumu notices it’s nearly morning. hinata is leaning against the other side of the couch, now with a pillow under his cheek and occupying three-fourths of the blanket they were supposed to be sharing. every few minutes, atsumu notices hinata has been struggling to keep his eyes open.

“if you’re tired you can go to sleep,” atsumu says, nudging hinata with his big toe.

hinata hums, looking at the clock for a moment and then looking out the curtained window. “no, I want to stay up. I want to see the sunrise.”

atsumu wants to chuckle. it almost sounds romantic—or maybe they watched just one too many rom coms tonight. he readjusts himself and fixes the blanket so that it covers both of them more evenly.

“you really look like you’re gonna pass out. just go to sleep,” he insists, leaning over to run his fingers through hinata’s hair, soft but a little stiff.

“no way. I’m not tired. if anything, you’re the one who looks tired. I bet I could stay up longer than you.”

those were fighting words from someone whose eyes were literally half closed as he spoke. atsumu smiles and leans back against the armrest. “fine, deal. loser buys lunch tomorrow—or… today, I guess.”

“deal.”

hinata manages to finish the rest of the movie with his eyes open the whole time, but atsumu knows he’s not going to last long. atsumu had years of experience staying up past his bedtime and then having to wake up early. he’s used to pulling all-nighters and staying up, but hinata was used a routine, and this definitely differed from his usual routine.

atsumu looks out the window—the curtains turning pink as the sun wakes up.

atsumu looks at hinata—eyes closed and breathing even, blanket up to his chin, pillow under his cheek. the soft luminescence of sunrise dusts morning glow over hinata’s cheeks, freckled from those few years in brazil when he trained on the beach.

atsumu reaches over and brushes hinata’s hair out of his face.

it’s 5:30am, and hinata is 8am with a side of fresh orange juice for breakfast.

* * *

it’s another season going by full of training and working and training. there’s hardly any time for play, but for hinata, working is playing. nostalgia hangs in the air like a guillotine blade, but atsumu doesn’t feel it. if anything, the nostalgia is hitting hinata and bokuto harder than anyone else, those two having fond memories together in their high school days. thinking back to high school, one summer stands out, but it’s one that drops a pit into atsumu’s stomach, not because of what had happened in the past but because of what he knows now in the future.

“kageyama and I dated in our second year,” hinata says, almost unprompted as he and bokuto buy health smoothies together. atsumu stands beside them, grimacing at the thought of tobio embracing anything other than a volleyball and glaring at all the sweet options on the menu that he can’t have or else hinata would give him an earful.

“whoa! no way! _that_ guy?” bokuto exclaims, eyes wider than his usual owlish gaze.

“he’s surprisingly sensitive,” hinata laughs.

“I can imagine,” atsumu mutters, finally turning away from the menu and deciding not to get anything to drink.

“what does that mean?” hinata says, turning to atsumu.

fuck. his sullen attitude shows. luckily for atsumu, these two numskulls are probably the worst at taking certain social cues, so atsumu’s talent of keeping his emotions in check should probably mask his thoughts and feelings. and here he’d said he’d try to be happier this summer.

“ah, it’s nothing,” he says with a smile. “I was just remembering what he was like during youth camp.”

hinata smiles with a shrug. “I thought about sneaking into that camp, but I didn’t want to get arrested—so I snuck into a different one!”

bokuto roars with laughter and pats hinata on the back as they continue walking. hinata looks at atsumu, vibrant chestnut eyes wide. it’s a gaze atsumu’s really only received from osamu, one that has more emotions behind it than words—one that says, “what are you hiding?”

atsumu reassures hinata with another smile, but hinata knows that the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

it’s 3pm, and hinata is 10pm with a side of late-night dark roast.

he’s never been stopped in the middle of the street before, and it’s a little bit surreal. hinata and atsumu had been walking together on the way to practice when two volleyball fans had stopped them to ask for autographs.

“we watched your game!” one of them exclaims.

“which one?” hinata asks as he signs a cap for the fan.

they argue between the two of them trying to remember what game it was. atsumu bets that they’d never seen their team play. hinata hands the cap to atsumu to sign, and he signs without a word, handing it back with his practiced smile.

“we’re glad you guys watched us,” he says.

the fans gawk for a moment, turning to hinata specifically. “can we ask a question?”

atsumu glances at his watch when hinata looks at him, and he shrugs. they have time for a question before practice.

“sure,” hinata says.

“you and kageyama tobio from schweiden adlers went to the same high school, right? we also saw some old clips from your high school games, and you guys moved together so well—it’s like you guys were telepathic!”

“haha, yeah. we were, like, best friends,” hinata says with a sheepish smile. it’s easier to say they were close than to explain how they’d started nearly hated each other at the beginning of high school, not to mention everything that happened in junior high.

“we’ve never seen anything like it! if anything, we’d think you guys were soulmates.”

the word strikes a chord in atsumu. didn’t they say they’d seen a msby black jackals’ game before? didn’t they see how well atsumu and hinata work together? what made tobio so special? he and hinata hadn’t played a game together since high school, and now they were on opposing teams. meanwhile, atsumu’s worked his ass off trying to get hinata to hit with pinpoint accuracy and raise his strength, and the amount of work he had to put in to keep up with hinata too.

many commentators and coaches always focused on tobio’s raw talent and genius of setting perfect tosses and being accurate, but hinata is his own breed as well with overeager ambition and a hunger for more, more, more. the world is lucky that hinata is only human and only wants to play volleyball, or else that demon could devour the universe whole.

atsumu doesn’t hear anything else from the fans and grabs hinata by the back of his jacket, dragging him away. “we’re late for practice.”

atsumu slams the door harder than usual when he comes home.

“break our apartment, why don’t you?” osamu quips from the couch. suna is snuggled underneath osamu’s arm as they watch tv.

“what’s up with you?” suna asks, looking atsumu up and down.

atsumu throws his bag into his room and takes a seat on the floor by the couch. he’s still sweaty from practice so he doesn’t want to sit on any of the furniture. “nothing, I’m just pissed.”

osamu scoffs at the way his brother phrased his feelings, and suna continues to stare at the twin on the floor. no one says a word, but osamu knows the silence will wear away on atsumu and force him to talk.

“shoyo,” he mutters.

“what’d he do this time?” osamu asks, flipping through the tv channels.

“is he still stealing your drinks?” suna teases, plopping a popcorn kernel into his mouth.

atsumu scrunches his face. “no, he stopped that weeks ago. it just sounds stupid. it’s not even a shoyo thing, but… tell me it’s seriously not normal that someone talks about their ex constantly.”

osamu and suna both look away from the tv now. “ex?”

“guess.” atsumu leans back on his palms, legs spread out in front off him as he looks up at his brother and his former teammate.

“dude, we don’t know him that well—”

“it’s _tobio!_ ”

osamu should’ve known. if atsumu isn’t obsessing over something hinata is doing, he’s definitely obsessing over something kageyama is doing. it’s atsumu’s drive to constantly prove himself, to constantly better himself. hinata may not be competing in the same positions and powers as atsumu, but his drive and ambition are factors that lend into atsumu’s competitive spirit.

kageyama, however, is the same as atsumu—position, skills, and sometimes mindset. and now they have another thing in common—the same monster for their spiker.

“are you jealous because you have a crush on hinata and now he won’t give you attention?” osamu says.

“I’m not jealous!” atsumu exclaims.

“oh, suna, notice how he didn’t say anything about the crush part,” osamu adds.

suna laughs, flicking a piece of popcorn at atsumu, who mutters a, “fuck you,” and stands up to go take a shower. the butterflies return to his stomach, ripping their wings apart inside of his stomach as they climb up his ribcage and cling to his lungs.

“maybe he didn’t sleep well last night,” oliver mutters to sakusa.

“it’s not just me, right? he’s definitely more sour than usual,” sakusa says.

“maybe he just needs some cheering up!” bokuto interjects, taking a step toward their setter, but oliver immediately pulls him back.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

atsumu stands up from tying his shoe and glares at his teammates, brows furrowed. the circles under his eyes are darker than usual today. “I can hear you,” he growls before going to do his stretches.

hinata frowns at the interaction. the air is sour, palpably heavy and stale. he finally stands up and stands in front of atsumu, blocking him from going anywhere. “what’s your deal?” he says.

the gym is silent, breaths held for an answer.

atsumu stares down at hinata. who was he to have such confidence and the gall to pick a fight with atsumu? with anyone in general. hinata’s the kind to see the biggest man in the world and immediately demand a fight with him—but he chooses to fight atsumu who has had had something eating as his heart and lungs and stomach, this disease that only spreads more and more and more every time he looks at hinata making a spike, sees him looking at his phone, smiling with their friends, enjoying a beverage, looking at the sky, splayed out on his couch at some ridiculous hour, stealing a bite of his bento, showing up stupid early in the morning for practice…

since when did atsumu have so many memories of hinata?

day after day, atsumu was competing with hinata—for what? for a drink? to see who’d be the last to fall asleep? for affection?

one competition after the next, when one declared a winner, a new competition took its place—this time in the form of someone who wasn’t even here. tobio is halfway across the world doing his own thing and playing his own game, competing in his own competition.

but hinata is here—this is atsumu’s competitor.

atsumu lets out a sigh as osamu’s words suddenly come back to him.

_how do I end it?_

_option 1: challenge him._

_option 2: admit defeat._

atsumu leans down a bit, nearly presses his lips to hinata’s ear. “this practice game,” he says. “if I win, let me take you on a date.”

birds sing by atsumu’s window. he groans and raises a hand to press to his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. sunlight is already streaming through the open curtain. his heart drops to his stomach for a moment realizing that he’s late for practice, but then he remembers that practice got cancelled today. he’d probably still drop by the gym to practice some serves.

summer is almost over now, and they’re no longer doing rounds of practice games. everything is real now—the spectators, the teams, the competition. it makes atsumu’s blood boil; he wants to get up and get out. in just a few weeks, they’d could potentially be facing a particular white eagle team.

summer is almost over now.

atsumu tries to move his left arm, but a weight presses down on it, and he turns to look at a nest of orange hair peeking out of his blankets. the sunlight casts a yellow glow over the freckles on hinata’s cheek, like little mini stars on his skin. if they had known each other as children, atsumu would’ve pasted star stickers on those cheeks and vouched that those eyes held a galaxy. but they’re not children—they’re adults, and atsumu is wiser to know that hinata is no galaxy. he’s a star, just waiting for the right moment to explode into his supernova of bright tangerine and golden sunlight grasping every inky corner of the universe to wrap in his light.

greedy. hinata could compete with whole solar systems and win.

sighing, atsumu settles back down into the bed, reaching with his free hand to run his fingers through hinata’s hair.

it’s 7am, and hinata is right now with atsumu by his side.


End file.
